Cause to Fight
by unwinding fantasy
Summary: [MGS3 fic][Slash] Two prisoners search for the same thing. They just don't know it yet. [Hiatus]
1. I: Wakeup Call

**Title: **Cause to Fight

**Author: **Aqua Phoenix1

**Disclaimer:** _Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater_ and all its characters and story do not belong to me. That honour goes to Hideo Kojima and Konami.

**Rating: **This chapter is T for violence but the rating will skyrocket in later chapters.

**Pairing: **Snake/Ocelot (mostly)

**A/N: **flashes warning lights This story contains SLASH (i.e. male/male relationships), scenes of violence/torture and some messed up issues which I'll specify in coming chapters (Don't wanna spoil surprises for anyone). If **_any_** of this offends you, **leave now** or continue reading at your own risk. If I get flamed for these things I'll personally print out your message and eat it. If I get flamed for anything else, I'll use them to toast my marshmallows.

Though I'm sure if you've played Metal Gear games then you won't be too put off by this.

Now that I've got that out of the way… waves to those bold enough to read on I'm glad to have you on board. This is my first Metal Gear fanfiction as well as my first attempt at a relatively dark story, hopefully with lots of angst. And before anyone asks, I'm not sure if this will go beyond shounen-ai (boy love) to yaoi (which involves sex scenes). I've tried to keep everyone in-character (but considering the pairing I chose, there's likely to be some degree of OOC-ness).

Please read and review. I live for constructive criticism and ego-boosting praise!

And if anyone's wondering, I wrote this because I just finished MGS3 and I've turned into a blithering Ocelot fangirl.

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**-----------------------------------------------------**  
**Chapter I**  
**Wakeup Call**

_"You're afraid. Good."_  
**-----------------------------------------------------**

_Between the liquor, the bed and the noise in my head_

_Between your mind and my crime and me in the grime_

_Between the gun, the lead and the lies that I said_

_Through your sweat breath comes the dawn of my death_

_Touch me -- Hate me_

_Give yourself to me and break me_

_Cut these eyes and I will see_

_Kiss these lying lips for me_

_Stroke this skin and I will kneel_

_Brutalize me, I will heal_

_Between the bullet and my lip and the lies you let slip_

_Between the dirt of this soul and your heart that's a hole_

_Between the place where you hit and this face where you spit_

_Through this sweet breath comes the dawn of my death_

**KMFDM--"Brute"**

He woke up.

When one pictures the irksome images that one faces when awakening -- such as the prospect of being stuffed into an office building's cubicle for the better part of the day or attending that dinner party for Mrs Wilkinson that requires one to spend obscene amounts of money on too-tight pants and a demeaning frilly shirt -- the notion of simply falling back onto that sweetly comforting pillow seems like the only logical thing to do. Regardless of gruelling CIA training and time spent with the elite Green Berets, Jack (codenamed Naked Snake for this one) was no exception.

Problem was, said pillow was nowhere in question.

In its place the soldier found the roughness of a bed which could be more accurately described as a table with springs, undoubtedly the source of the dull ache in his neck. Gingerly, Jack manoeuvred into a sitting position, his feet dangling over the side easily reaching the unforgiving chill of a concrete floor, and surveyed his surroundings as he was prone to do. The rank odour of stale urine and excrement along with that of his own dried blood made Jack grateful that his habitual smoking had deadened his sense of smell.

If this whole ordeal was part of a movie, this would be the part where the protagonist looks around his tiny holding cell and dumbly mutters, 'Where am I?' before making a jailbreak. However, the hero of this particular tale knew he was all too real, not some superhuman caped crusader or a man with the ability to toast marshmallows with beams from his eyeballs if it took his fancy. The stabbing pain in his body -- he didn't know which part of him exactly; it was just there -- reminded Jack of his status as real and alive, though given his current situation he wasn't sure this was good news.

That was another thing about movies: the unlucky guy who is knocked unconscious by sleeping gas/drugs in his coffee/the villain who was supposedly dead bashing him over the head with whatever makes a nice sound as it shatters can never recollect just what happened to land him in his predicament. Jack rarely watched films. Normalising these things didn't sit well with him and besides, the portrayals were always completely off. Just like in this case: the hero never remembered; Jack did. How anyone could banish such memories from their mind was beyond him.

_Cold and wet, he hangs limply by his wrists. His feet are only just capable of reaching the floor but the strength to stand has long since left him. He should be grateful the rope isn't thinner because it's chafing, gnawing away at his skin -- there will be angry red mini trenches dug there by the time it's over. If the bucket of life-giving water that was thrown over him moments ago was just meant to make him wet, it was unnecessary: his own sweat already took care of that._

_Volgin's questions don't make sense anymore. Snake almost wishes he would pass out to escape the colonel's voice and the pain. Every time electricity passes through him his heart beats so vigorously he fears it'll break free of its prison behind his ribcage and explode from his chest. Every time he endures his torturer's mocking laughter, his mentor's apathetic façade. Every time he is forced to hear EVA's pleading shrieks mingled with his own agony-induced ones. Burning flesh seems commonplace now; Snake can't imagine smelling any different._

_Of the five occupants of this chamber, only Ocelot's presence is bearable: Volgin's questions coupled with EVA's and his own choked screams only serve to remind him he is still alive, whereas The Boss' indifference means he is not only in this naked and alone, but abandoned too. While the boy looks pleased, his eyes say otherwise. Every so often, they dart towards either the Cobras' leader or the GRU colonel as if expecting one to say, 'That's enough for now.' Snake is able to make these observations because although he had been staring resolutely at the inside of a bag for God knows how long -- too long -- the veil has just been roughly removed and he is now face-to-face with the point of The Boss' survival knife. _

_'You made him a soldier, and now you will unmake him,' the words carried a note of satisfied glee. Not for the first time Snake felt like throwing up but doing so meant risking poking his eye out himself considering how close she was holding the damn thing. And she'd proclaimed he was nervous on the Virtuous Mission!_

_'Do it! Ruin him, just as he did the Cobras!'_

_Just because Snake was at the point of exhaustion didn't mean he couldn't register what was taking place: the one person he admired most in the world, someone he thought he could trust with more than his life, was about to gouge out his eyes. Mere millimetres from the softness of his eyeball, the blade glinted threateningly as it approached and though The Boss had faith in his ability to tough it out, to withstand the torture, Snake was rapidly dissolving into panic. Any living creature when backed into a corner will be unable to resist its base instincts taking over, the single purpose of survival that governs all animals. And what are humans but sophisticated animals?_

_He willed his eyelids to stay open. He tried to avoid the object by dropping his gaze and instead focused on the next thing that came into his line of vision: the spurs on the heels of Ocelot's boots. So the kid wasn't that used to it after all. Knowing wasn't as much of a victory as Snake thought it should be. _

_And then just as his mentor moved her wrist that fraction backwards to gain momentum for the jab, EVA broke. Surprisingly, her strangled 'No!' was enough to halt the procedure._

_'What is it, Tanya?' it was skepticism that tinged Volgin's voice, not concern._

_Her reply came in a barely audible whisper. 'He's suffered enough…'_

_Selfish as it was, Snake couldn't help but feel relieved. The undercover agent had possibly revealed herself, exposing herself to the treatment a traitor receives… She would be given just as much agony as he had been dealt, if not more. But right then, all Snake could do was continue his raspy breathing, in an out, and stare at those shiny stars. They were dancing now._

_'Well, well…' the cat circled his prey, waiting for the best moment to strike. Halting, Ocelot spared Snake an indescribable look, then whirled on the woman, 'Why are you protecting him?' Arrogant as he was, the fact that she was old enough to be the Spetsnaz operative's mother didn't deter him. Stepping into EVA's personal space, Ocelot inhaled her scent; Snake watched her recoil from Ocelot's presence, silently urging her to hold her ground. The boy may be green as a cucumber when it came to actual combat but he was definitely no fool and besides that, there was a perpetual air of suspicion about him suggesting he was liable to pounce on anyone, guilty or not._

_'That smell…' Ocelot continued, tapping his head as if he knew the answer somewhere up there but couldn't quite get a hold on it, like a snake stealthily slithering out of reach. Whatever it was, it obviously was unimportant because he went on to declare, 'Tatyana! You're the spy!' regardless, causing Volgin to emit a grunt of disbelief and Snake to suppress a groan. If EVA was ratted out he had no chance of survival… Not if they continued what they'd been doing to him for the past half hour. If only he had one, just one, fake death pill (or a real one, he conceded grimly) he could be out of this and… What was he thinking!_

_'…want to test her. I'll let this be the judge,' Ocelot had procured three Colt Single Action Army revolvers and was now loading a single bullet into one. That solitary bullet looked like paradise in Snake's mind but if he knew anything of the Russian, Ocelot wasn't that forgiving._

_'Do as you like,' Volgin dismissed his lover's life with a shrug that looks almost comical on the Hulk-sized man. _

_If anything, Ocelot was spurred on by his audience's evident approval as he began juggling the firearms in that infuriating way of his. Snake tried to follow the dizzying pattern and keep watch on the one containing the ammo, which proved to be a difficult task when one's head felt like Vesuvius before it erupted. A small smile found its way onto Ocelot's features as he quick-stepped to keep up with his own flying weapons, thoroughly ignoring EVA's small gasps each time he pulled the trigger only to be greeted with an empty click. As the loaded gun landed in the boy's gloved hand, it was too late that Snake realised he was playing the hero again by mustering whatever energy hadn't been zapped from him by the colonel: he flung himself at his ally's assailant, the bulk of him knocking the cat off balance. Trying to stay on his feet, Ocelot's fingers tightened around the trigger and the gun discharged in Snake's face._

_Anyone would think the pain would be excruciating but considering what had already happened to him, this particular occurrence was no more hurtful. He instantly closed his eye as another scream was torn from his throat, then he just hung there, spent. He was dimly aware of Volgin's chuckling, EVA's soft sobs. The blood pouring from his face seemed pleasantly cool compared to the rest of him. And then came another bang, and the crying ceased._

_'Well, that was refreshing,' came the colonel's deep rumble. A pause as he seemingly considered the situation, then, 'Boss, take care of this.' Volgin was met with an ice-cold stare for his efforts, one that told him she wasn't the person to be asking (How many times had Snake seen that same expression?) but the aforementioned Boss vacated the room nonetheless. Only the briskness of her footsteps betrayed her annoyance at being dismissed so easily. Snake's loud panting now seemed to be magnified as the door swooshed shut. _

_Some footsteps and then a strong gloved hand grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to look into its owner's eyes._

_Ocelot sniffed. 'You're afraid. Good.' That same smile crawled onto his lips and his eyes seemed to glitter like those of the animal of his namesake._

_'That's enough for now,' Volgin interrupted. 'We're… leaving.'_

_That almost indiscernible pause made those sky blue eyes become storm grey. For a second. Then before Snake knew what was happening (though in his present state it would undoubtedly take him a number of seconds to comprehend anything taking place around him) Ocelot was grasping him in a mockery of a hug, driving something into the prisoner's back with such a force that it pierces flesh and all. Snake just had the strength to reward the boy's hard work with a grunt that was more irritation than pain -- he was beyond that -- before allowing himself to pass into sweet oblivion._

Jack brought his hand to his face and when his fingers came away bloody he finally realised: The Boss might not have removed his eye but he'd managed to do it all on his own. Jack regarded his stained hands for a moment but he reasoned he still had one good eye and that was more then sufficient for the task at hand. The FOX operative now used this single eye to properly examine his quarters.

The three by two cell consisted of a wall of iron bars and three concrete walls which, when he tapped on one, sounded much too deep to even blow a hole through with the small amount of TNT he'd acquired. Of course, he'd been liberated of the explosives along with the rest of his equipment and in addition some of his clothing: he was bare from the waist up, his torso riddled with burns and bruises that were already turning yellowy-brown. His arms were sore after being suspended from them for so long -- rotating them was painful but the alternative of stiff joints was less desirable -- and his wrists still throbbed. He suspected he looked like an undead creature from one of Para-Medic's movies. Listening carefully revealed small squeaks echoing in the confined building, letting him know that he wasn't the only inhabitant of the tiny chamber.

While Jack had seen his share of tight places, a prison block wasn't one of them; no amount of training could have prepared him for the desperation he felt at being trapped as efficiently as he'd caught and eaten a mouse in a mousetrap. Or a snake. He dimly noted a chamber pot where it sat neglected in a corner and wondered how long it would be before EVA contacted him.

Oh, right. She was dead.

He knew he should feel sad at the loss, or at least angry at those responsible. But when The Boss went turncoat whatever semblance of sympathy that remained in him had completely died. Not to mention that EVA's death was on his head: because of her feelings for Jack she'd tried to protect him. Why, he didn't quite understand -- he'd certainly avoided reciprocating EVA's advances, afraid that doing so would jeopardise not just the mission but both their lives; they knew the Russians wouldn't hesitate to use them against one another. Evidently, Jack hadn't tried hard enough. She'd still wound up dead. That happened to most people around him, he admitted bitterly, either they died or got themselves injured. Remorse that he was to blame and fury at himself for being unable to stop it were the only two emotions that seemed to regularly plague Jack.

He never loved her. Love just wasn't possible for a soldier. Girlfriends disliked the way he would stop whilst halfway across a pedestrian crossing if a helicopter flew by, or how it was impossible for him to be entirely comfortable in a room full of people. Soldiers are like that. Jack, or at least Naked Snake, had given up on love a long time ago. After his mentor's betrayal he'd given up on friendship as well.

Somewhere, in the privateness of his mind, he'd construct a little shrine to store everything he remembered about EVA the spy, as well as the woman she was. It mightn't be much but if it was the only tribute he could pay then he felt obligated to do so. He realised she'd never told him her real name... Jack shivered, then focused on the guard that had just passed on patrol, silently counting the paces until he returned.

It wasn't until he heard two sets of footfalls that he realised he hadn't stopped counting even though the guard had made numerous rounds. Furious for letting something like that happen, when Jack met the owner of the second footsteps' eyes it was with defiance that he did so.

Ocelot, looking even more pristine than usual, stood gazing calmly at the captive.

'Sleep well?' the gunman questioned derisively, pacing the length of the cell like a cat on the prowl. Jack didn't bother to acknowledge the boy's words, instead opting to continue his inspection of the floor. After all, Ocelot was obsessed with him as it was so there was no need to lead him on. Jack almost chuckled at that.

'Like your new home? Sorry about the vermin problem but we figured a pet snake would clean it up.'

_"Yeah, I'll clean up the vermin alright,"_ Jack thought vehemently, but he kept his face blank.

'It's a wonder you survived the colonel's torture,' the voice was strangely clipped. Ocelot paused (_"To compose himself? What's with this kid?"_) before continuing in his usual calculated drawl, 'You should feel honoured; you taught me something. It's not really that bad. It's the ultimate form of expression.'

Jack had never been one of those people with a cause, not like those animal activists or protesters against nuclear war who relentlessly campaigned despite the fact that it was pitifully evident they wouldn't change anything. Sure, he had his mission orders but the field operative wasn't privy to the motives behind them, nor did he have any choice if he wanted to come out of the situation alive and with all his body parts intact. Missions were just something that had to be done, not a cause. He'd been able to reason this apathy out once: he chalked it down for his lack of passion about any of said causes. And besides that, he didn't want to jump on any bandwagons and wind up looking like a brainless robot spewing whatever it'd been programmed to say.

Right then though, Jack decided he was completely against the use of child soldiers. For one, they were kids. For two, they didn't even know what the hell they were getting themselves into. He could tell them.

'…You honestly believe that?'

Ocelot was thoroughly startled out of his pacing at that; maybe the Russian thought they must've cut out his tongue while he'd been looking the other way. Jack's gaze, a composed one this time, moved past the iron bars to meet the boy's and for that moment he wasn't the prisoner. Ocelot made a sound of distaste and shook his head, amused. 'Volgin said you'd be awake by now,' the implication was clear.

'…' He doubted he even gave half a damn.

'Tell me: why are you here? How much does FOX know? Volgin was stupid enough to give out more information than he received but I'm not Volgin,' the tone he used was uninterested. Leaning against the wall where he toyed with the fingers of his gloves, Ocelot looked decidedly bored. Surely he wasn't expecting any answers? Jack wasn't that dumb and besides, he knew as much about his superiors' motives as the chamber pot. He settled on saying as much.

'And what do you know about the GRU's plans?' Jack asked before ploughing over what may have been the beginnings of a protest. 'Exactly. The grunts are always kept in the dark. I'm sure you and Volgin don't get together and have nice little chats over coffee and teacakes.' Jack bit off that last sentence sharply, hoping to shut the kid up. Most people left him alone when he used his "I-know-a-hundred-different-ways-to-kill-you-with-a-balloon" voice.

Ocelot stiffened at that. Eyes flashing, he hissed, 'I know enough. Volgin doesn't own me.' His mouth snapped shut after the last word was expelled.

From the corner of his eye, Jack observed the boy's chest slowly rise then fall in an inaudible sigh. He was fiddling with his gloves again as if they were too tight for his hands. An unpredicted reaction, that. Maybe Jack would have to take more care around the young Russian; he seemed arrogant enough to shoot him if Jack delivered the right insult. 'You heard The Boss. I won't break.'

Seemingly in control of himself again, Ocelot stalked as close as the iron bars would allow him. A sudden grin lit his face, turning his eyes electric blue. 'We'll see about that,' he accompanied the declaration by withdrawing an SAS from its usual place at his hip to idly twirl it around his finger. It stopped with the barrel facing the prisoner. 'Don't even think about crossing me or you'll lose more than an eye.'

Lose? It was probably still splattered across his face.

'That was an accident. Like I said, you don't have what it takes to kill me, kid.'

A bang, and the bullet ripped through Jack's lower leg making him jolt awkwardly half off the cot as he curled around the wound, staring wildly at the hole in his leg. Biting down on his tongue didn't stop a muffled groan from escaping him and the metallic tang of fresh blood filled his mouth, overpowering the subtle fragrance of gunpowder residue in the air. Breathing in the smell of the freshly fired revolver, Ocelot tilted his head sideways to catch Jack's eye. 'No more of this "kid". A man like me should be given the respect he deserves,' his voice was taut with barely reigned in anger.

Caught somewhere between trying to make the blinding pain end while retaining whatever dignity he had left, Jack settled on an attempt to bandage his newest acquisition; removing his -- The Boss' -- bandanna, he tied it firmly around his calf. There was an exit wound, he noticed with morbid satisfaction, which meant no poking around with his survival knife and thank God the kid hadn't shot out his kneecap. So much for treading lightly. Jack mentally chastised himself for his foolishness.

He added "because they shoot me" to the reasons as to why he was against the use of child soldiers.

'From now on you address me as Major. Understood?'

Jack grunted in what was neither affirmation nor denial, but it seemed good enough for Ocelot.

'Well, we don't want to keep the colonel waiting, do we?' there was a decisive note in the words.

Ocelot gestured to the guard, who hurriedly moved to unlock the cell door and Jack obediently rose though getting off the bed was a sufficient challenge. Cooperation seemed the best course of action for now; it would do him no good to get himself even more beat up. At the soldier's shouted 'Move it!' Jack hobbled towards the door. As he reached it the Russian clapped a hand on his shoulder and breathed a low, 'Don't disappoint me,' before stalking off down the passageway.

Jack watched him leave, wondering if he should've let EVA shoot him.


	2. II: Pensive

**Title: **Cause to Fight

**Author: **Aqua Phoenix1

**Disclaimer:** _Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater_ and all its characters and story do not belong to me. That honour goes to Hideo Kojima and Konami. I do own Vadim and Aleksei though.

**Rating: **Chapter 2's K because of some swearing but that's about it.

**Pairing: **Snake/Ocelot (mostly)

**A/N: **I love how Ocelot comes across as so full of himself it's a wonder he can find a cap big enough for his head, but I had to ask myself what made him that arrogant. So, my imagination ran wild and I'm taking liberties, as us fanfic writers do. crosses fingers I hope my characterization's okay. He tends to blush a lot, but then I would too if I was in half the situations he's been stuck in. Tell me where I'm going wrong/right in a review and I'll be forever grateful.

A couple of notes before I go on: First, I realised there's going to be spoilers in upcoming chapters regarding Ocelot's parents. Second, Vadim and Aleksei are my own creations, so please don't steal them (at least, not without asking first). The names mean "one who creates trouble" and "helper/defender" respectively, which I hope comes across in the fic. Next, Vanya, which is how Aleksei addresses Ocelot, is actually a more familiar nickname for Ivan (which, to my knowledge, is pronounced EE-van in Russian). And finally, for some reason QuickEdit doesn't like Russian names so forgive me if you come across some problems with spacing.

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**Chapter II  
Pensive**

_"I never agreed to be his Holy One!"_  
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Ocelot prowled the perimeter of Groznyj Grad, the supposedly "impenetrable" fortress. He was bound to no particular route -- an odd occurrence in itself, for neatness and order had been drilled into him -- rather, he seemed to be walking for the sake of it. Although he did notice one thing; correction, one thing in particular and that was that he had been resolutely avoiding the cell block for what he imagined was the past two hours. Admitting that much wasn't hard but he didn't venture so far as to admit why.

Altering the pathway he was constructing to avoid another patch of grass (venomous everythings lived in this horrible place -- though on a plus, there weren't any rats outside) came as second nature after being stationed here as a child and then again last month. An ocelot knows each nuance of his territory and this one was no different.

But then again, maybe he was. After all, he couldn't even reason out his own thoughts.

The Russian sighed and upon deciding that wandering aimlessly in a country where you were as likely to be killed by an Indian gavial as a butterfly wasn't such a great idea, he plonked himself down on a barrel that had rolled onto its rounded edge. Removing his hat to run a hand through feathery hair allowed the warm breeze to brush through it. He absently considered growing it some more -- the beret provided little warmth at the best of times though that wouldn't be such a problem if Ocelot was unfortunate enough to stay here any longer. Thesummer wasperpetually humid, providing an immense challenge for him to remain in his impeccable uniform when all his body really wanted him to do was strip. But that would raise questions. Not to mention there were a number of good reasons he should resist, which were, in order of decreasing priority:

**1.** He'd look like a complete ass.

**2.** He'd be putting himself on display for a bunch of horny soldiers who likely hadn't been home to their wives for multiple months(and he'd seen the looks some of them had given him when they thought he was looking the other way). Ocelot wasn't interested in men, or even women for that matter, least of all these ones. Which led to…

**3.** He didn't want to encourage anyone who'd already made a pass at him within the past twenty-four hours (Ocelot was looking in Raikov's direction). And finally…

**4.** Anyone that didn't recognize him as Major Ocelot would question his sanity, though he didn't think that was too off-putting. From what he'd heard, the general consensus on the matter of his sanity was that he had none. Ocelot allowed a chuckle.

At least in the relative privacy of the jungle he was free to do as he pleased. At that recollection, Ocelot felt somewhat liberated: he left his hat sitting on the drum beside him and loosened the scarf around his neck. He went to pull off his gloves but then thought better of it; anyone could come waltzing past and see him. Not that they were likely to say anything if they liked their face the way it was, but still.

If someone happened to saunter by at that moment they would've seen an only-just man lounging in one of Tselinoyarsk's many jungles, looking the picture of content. While they couldn't have been farther from the truth, this mistake was a forgivable one considering ocelots were masters of camouflage. This one had resolved to stay as far away from certain American prisoners as possible from now on -- he always ended up hurting them and, he told himself, Colonel Volgin wouldn't be happy with him if these "accidents" continued.

But the eye thing really was an accident. At least Snake believed him about that. Ocelot still found it hard to recognize that he'd tried to speak with the man and only succeeded in putting a hole the size of a small country in the guy's leg. Okay, so it wasn't quite that large but it must've hurt regardless. Just another failure on his part, a mistake only a kid would make. The countless errors Ocelot had made in the past only made him fiercely proud of the talents he did have, and of course, all hell would break loose if someone dared insult them.

Snap of a twig. Ocelot was crouched behind the drum before he completely knew what he was doing. Twin Peacemakers found their way into his hands. Slowing his breathing, the soldier tried to determine where the offending noise had sounded from. The fear that rose inside him found itself shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind. Risking a glance over the top of the barrel (now he was almost certain he'd heard rustling leaves in that direction) revealed the second stupidest thing he'd done today:

He'd left the damn hat.

The pin shaped as the Spetsnaz crest that was stuck in the cap cheekily glinted at him in the sunlight. Not for the first time in his life, Ocelot wished he'd never joined the military. Not that he'd had much choice in the matter, of course.

_"Stop thinking and fight."_

Silently, he shuffled to a tree to his immediate left, trusting the thick foliage in this area to provide him with enough cover. Chancing another glance proved a futile action; the clumped-together trees and shrubs looked as if they hadn't been disturbed recently and they efficiently concealed whatever it was from the youth's view. He needed a better vantage point, needed to locate the enemy before it found him. A dangerous game of cat and mouse. Ocelot wondered which he was in this instance.

A flash of red suddenly appeared from behind a thick cluster of tall, narrow trees. As if Ocelot's gaze had rooted him to the spot, the man stopped before turning to look in the major's direction. The major exhaled gratefully -- the man was a fellow Spetsnaz soldier. And in full dress uniform no less! Didn't he know those hats stood out like an honest man among thieves? What an imbecile!

Ocelot's eyes slid to his own cap where it sat happily on the drum. Flushing at his train of thought, he snatched the offending item up and returned it to his head.

'Sir!' the red-capped man called, snapping to attention when he noticed the stripes on the other's shoulders. A trio of Ocelot's own soldiers materialised behind the overdressed newcomer and saluted their major in the same manner. Ocelot gave them a curt nod.

'We weren't informed of impromptu inspections,' one of the Ocelots said half-jokingly. The voice and stance told Ocelot it was Aleksei, the closest person he had to a friend in this god forsaken place.

Ocelot directed his stare at Red Cap.

'One of the new recruits we were promised,' Aleksei answered for him. Ocelot frowned, remembering why these replacements were necessary: six of his men down, one of which died, not to mention himself. And all taken out by that American. He grasped the bullet hanging around his neck, the one which shared a chain with his other pendent.

'Uh, sir? He came in with two others by chopper an hour ago. Went to report to you but you weren't there…'

_"Three! Is this some kind of joke?"_

When Ocelot didn't reply, the new recruit cleared his throat anxiously before launching into all the usual stuff: name, rank, description, qualifications… Ocelot cut him off when he was still talking after five minutes. Twilight came quickly in the jungle and he doubted any one of them, himself included, wanted to be stuck out there at night. Ocelots might have been night-time hunters but in this deadly environment, this one decided against it.

Besides that, the guy was boring him.

'Just give me your file,' -- the soldier obliged -- 'and he'll assign you to the barracks,' Ocelot accompanied that with a toss of his head in Aleksei's direction. That was really no kind of order and he had the feeling that Aleksei, who wordlessly observed this exchange, knew it as well as he did. At least he'd been with Ocelot long enough to let it slide. True, it wasn't a soldier's place to challenge his commanding officer but incompetence on the officer's part wasn't tolerated well either.

Aleksei ordered the other two Ocelots to do their major's bidding and, flashing salutes, they scurried off eagerly. Once they were well out of earshot, Ocelot let himself lean against a tree. He gave the other youth that look of his: right eye squinting as he carefully assessed what the other was and how he should counter this. Though the dark haired man was thoroughly ignoring him, he wasn't making any moves to exit the vicinity either. When Ocelot looked over at elder one again he was sitting on the overturned drum, quietly cleaning his automatic; Ocelot was always lecturing him on the importance of weapons maintenance after an incident where Aleksei's gun had backfired. Thankfully, it had happened when an enemy soldier had gotten hold of it and was attempting to blast Ocelot's head off -- Aleksei had the Devil's own luck.

Overhead, the sky was darkening and the fresh smells of the jungle that only reveal themselves by nightfall were mingling together pleasantly. Ocelot inhaled deeply before re-focusing his attention on his comrade. Praying his voice would contain none of the emotions he felt, the Russian relented. Experience told him the guy could keep an act like this up for days if the mood took him

'Tell me, then,' the blonde was tired but he was still too proud to phrase it as a question.

Aleksei wasted no time, 'I'm worried, Ivan.'

Ocelot glared, 'Here I'm Ocelot. Even to you.' Just the thought of sharing a name with Raikov made him want to throw a number of sharp objects in the fairy's general direction (and hopefully hit him). Not that it mattered, really; on the battlefield, a name was meaningless. Additionally, Ocelot himself didn't even have a name -- not the kind a mother would give -- but his position as The Philosopher's right-hand man ensured he went by many. So many, he'd begun losing count. Once, when he'd returned to a village where he'd spent a small part of his childhood he'd been crossing the settlement's solitary bridge when a kind-looking fellow heading in the opposite direction hailed him as Artur. Ocelot had let the man buy him some sweets. He'd been sixteen at the time, much too old for raspberry drops, but most likely the senile man had mistaken him for his grandson. Ocelot hadn't had the heart to tell him otherwise.

He had chosen the name because it was generic, the kind that would escape notice and be difficult to recall. To Aleksei, the boy he'd known for a significant portion of his life, Ocelot would always be Ivan regardless of what the major said to disown the name. Duty demanded Ocelot correct him though.

Aleksei scratched his neck -- nervousness typically manifested itself in him that way -- and tried again. 'Major Ocelot,' the words, while not exactly awkward, sounded unpractised, 'I… we wanted to know…' he fumbled for the right words. 'How is the American?'

Said major raised an eyebrow, 'Him? Begging for death, I'd imagine.'

That was a lie. This "son of The Boss", as Volgin dubbed him, was not the kind to beg unless his superiors ordered him to, and that tenacity had earned him Ocelot's respect, maybe even his admiration. Snake was good enough to let his opponents live; hell, he was even good enough to give them tips in the middle of a fight. At least, Ocelot thought Snake was good. Either that or stupid, or perhaps just overconfident.

The man's broken body, less than a shadow of his former glory, was nothing like it had been when they had done battle. Yellowing bruises swelling up all over his body, a look of hate directed at Volgin. Even though the colonel took pleasure in toying with others, Ocelot had half-expected him to kill Snake then and there. He grimaced at the memory of the man strung up by his wrists and abruptly told it to go away. 'But you didn't wait that long to ask me how the American's faring. Out with it, comrade.'

Aleksei paused before answering, 'Vadim. He wants to pay the dog back for that scar he gave him.' Vadim had been kind enough to offer Snake his services as a human shield. The idiot.

_The slender man before him offers him a salute that he obediently returns. While he'd normally have no qualms about being interrupted -- cleaning the colonel's quarters wasn't as high on his priority list as it should've been if he wanted to stay healthy -- the silver-headed individual who was doing the interrupting was, to put it bluntly, the biggest moron he'd ever had the misfortune of bumping into. 'Colonel Volgin wishes to speak with you,' the man intones, resigned. 'He's at the heliport.' _

_As soon as the words compute it doesn't take long to finish off what he's been doing (he'd been taking part in the incredibly invigorating experience of dusting said colonel's desk) and he hurriedly pushes past Raikov to do the man's bidding. Quick strides -- he didn't want to be late again -- see him to Volgin's self-proclaimed private heliport. The eighteen-year-old can't help but feel relieved when he sees his commander has company: not a boy, but a man with short blonde hair cut in Russian fashion. His face, a pretty one that is smooth with youth, appears somewhat unhappy with the situation though his venom isn't directed at either of the other males. It's more like he has been ordered to do something disdainful, like clean his superior officer's boots. _

_Coming to a halt, his heels click together as he gives a sharp salute, 'Reporting for duty, sir!' He attempts to direct the salute at both men, unsure who warrants the most of his attention, and, careful not to earn himself undue punishment, discreetly sizes the unfamiliar man up. That uniform… It had been two weeks since Volgin had requested his transfer out of Groznyj Grad. Maybe this was his escape route. _

_Volgin smiles, 'Lieutenant, meet Major Vadim Maslov of Spetsnaz's Ocelot Unit. He wants a word with my most promising disciple, and of course I couldn't go past you…'_

Ocelot was less than pleased with the idea of siccing his best behaved dogs -- cats -- on Snake. Letting Vadim have free run of it would mean sending Snake off to the gallows, which in turn meant conceding defeat and abandoning Ocelot's hopes of a rematch. What kind of coward would he appear to be then? He would prove no better than his own tormentors. The thought was maddening.

Then again, prohibiting his ex-commander could be like tying a noose around his own neck.

'He wanted you to ask me.' It wasn't a question. Ocelot didn't put this show of cowardice past Vadim. That was the main difference between them. With no mother or father to teach by example, Ocelot had been at the mercy of The Philosophers and later, the GRU. Both parties had taught him how to fight, how to survive, but they had told him nothing of ethics or morals. Like a name, these things counted for nothing when bullets were zinging by. Ethics never stopped Kennedy's assassination.

The funny thing was, certain values _were _important to Ocelot even though these served no practical purpose when he was caught in a crossfire. Qualities like honour, determination, keeping alive a cause you believed in and a willingness to fight to your death to do so… these things were central in Ocelot's mind. It didn't matter exactly whose honour you carried or what cause you happened to support as long as you found something worth fighting for and carried it through to the end. Perhaps it was because Ocelot himself hadn't found these things -- and he never would as long as he wore The Philosophers' collar and leash -- that it was with such ferocious passion that he clung to them.Vadim had no honour; he only looked to further himself in the world. Snake had a cause. He'd made a hat trick of defeating Ocelot, taken out most of the Cobras and infiltrated Groznyj Grad completely on his own. And he'd refused to form even a single word throughout Volgin's ministrations. That in itself was more than Ocelot had ever managed. He supposed he did envy the man…as well as hated him for confusing him so.

'No. He's been talking about it ever since though.'

Just what Ocelot needed: dissension in the ranks. 'With who?'

'A couple of others. Vanya, you know the men are loyal to you,' he added the last quickly, using the name to try and sway the major. Ocelot could tell by his friend's tone that he was finding it hard to believe his own words.

'And all will be forgiven if I let them at Snake?'

'…'

'Aleksei?'

'…So that's the guy's name.'

Damn. He hadn't meant to say that.

Spreading his arms dramatically, he provided '"Know thy enemy"' as way of explanation. For someone who spent his days spouting nonsensical claptrap, even to Ocelot's ears it sounded lame but however uninventive, it was true to a degree: Ocelot had a score to settle with the soldier. The difference between him and his men was that he understood what it was like to have someone spit in your face (and worse) while you remained defenceless.

And that's where fighting came in. Fighting was an outlet for Ocelot's frustration at what he couldn't be; his sole talent, the only thing that was truly his, a skill that had served him well all things considered. Nobody made fun of you when you were fighting, but when you finally stopped…? If he gave his men permission to play their own sick game with Snake he'd be robbing the man of his right to defend himself, his right to do what he did best.

He wasn't at all comforted by the fact that they'd dare not let Snake die for fear of Volgin's wrath. This deterrent gave no guarantees; no man could survive non-stop torture sessions -- even a FOX operative -- and accidents did happen. The notion left his stomach feeling like a hurricane was stuck inside it.

And finally on his list of reasons for withholding his permission, he reminded himself (as he fiddled with the revolver at his waist) that he hadn't properly thanked Snake for his gift.

'Tell them that unless they want me to paint another Picasso with their faces, I suggest they leave him to me.'

Ocelot saw his friend's mouth curve into a smile beneath the standard-issue balaclava he wore. 'Sir!' he gave a half-mocking salute. Ocelot returned his characteristically laid back one.

The brunette hesitated then asked, 'Think Volgin'll stop?'

'Stop torturing him? Only when he's dead.' _"Maybe not even then."_

Silence then, but not the usually companionable one that was between them. This one was strained with queries and concerns that were dared not voiced.

'You didn't answer my question,' it came as a whisper so contrary to Aleksei's usual cheer that for a moment Ocelot forgot to guard his tongue.

'What?'

'It can't be easy, being so close to him,' there was no need to clarify who he was speaking of.

Fury blazing in him, Ocelot violently gestured towards Groznyj Grad. 'I never agreed to be his Holy One!' he spat, eyes that burned cold fire daring Aleksei to make further comment. A few birds pecking around in a patch of grass took flight at the sudden outburst, scattering overhead, letting out mournful cries. Ocelot grasped his gloves tight. There were some things that even close friends didn't discuss.

'I'm worried,'Aleksei repeated his earlier statement simply and the other realised the older Spetsnaz soldier had been wanting to say this all along. Not only was he a strange looking Russian, his behaviour was also unbecoming. Ocelot would've smiled at any other time.

Before he could come back with a witty remark, the radio at Aleksei's hip sounded. Ocelot had to stare him down some more before the dark haired one relented and answered the call. Sighing to himself, Ocelot noticed with a start that night had completely fallen -- it certainly did have a way of sneaking up on you. Resigned, he began making his way back to Groznyj Grad, Aleksei's voice sounding too loud in the cacophony of a jungle at night.

'…Yes, he's right here…He what?...Yes, sir… I will, sir.'

By that point, Ocelot had slowed to a stop. Aleksei strode to the major's side, worry reflected on his face.

'The American, someone got to him,' Aleksei relayed.

'CIA?' That was a stupid question, but the alternative was worse.

'No, one of ours.'

Whether obeying orders or something else, Ocelot started running.


	3. III: Just Desserts

**Title: **Cause to Fight

**Author: **Aqua Phoenix1

**Disclaimer:**_Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater_ and all its characters and story do not belong to me. That honour goes to Hideo Kojima and Konami. I do own Vadim and Aleksei though.

**Rating: **This instalment is worthy of a K+ rating because of my dirty mind. (Nothing bad but it **is** shounen-ai, after all.)

**Pairing: **Snake/Ocelot (mostly)

**A/N: **Just wanted to say that I stole **TheDonutMistress**' description of Ocelot. "Juggling clown" does him much justice, methinks. I wanted to give credit where it was due, and if you're still reading this thanks for the phrase. If it really bugs you, I have no problems with removing it. And how's this for obsession: I've recently taken up juggling myself. I still need practice. Well frankly, I'm rubbish. Can sort of juggle three but I can tell you right now, it's as hard as it looks.

And finally, the chapter title is purposely misquoted -- to tie in with Snake's food.

* * *

**-----------------------------------------------------**  
**Chapter III**  
**Just Desserts**

"…_You ate my food?"_  
**-----------------------------------------------------**

_Not for the first time he can taste blood in his mouth, a violent flavour that the running water of the stream does little to soothe. A group of youths are pointing, laughing, and they're jangling his pendent just out of reach. 'Here, pussy pussy!' one of them coos, and the victim knows he should leave it be but it's his only connection to his past -- he can feel the white hot anger building up inside. The teens above him are merely a handful of years older but when you're on the threshold of adulthood every year counts; they're much bigger than he is. The leader, a lean child whose name eludes the trembling boy, is wearing a quickly diminishing expression of glee as he notices his taunts aren't working as well as they normally do. 'Can pussies play fetch too? Let's see. Fetch, kid!' the teen commands, tossing the pendent into the fast-flowing river. _"Son of a bitch!"_ the younger screams inwardly at the unfairness of it all. Initial fear overcome by desperation, the cat leaps into the water… _

Legs pounding, he couldn't remember the last time he'd ran this fast. There was usually no need to, Ocelot being as naturally swift as he was -- he usually ducked and weaved, evading enemy fire with ease -- but not today. Today he'd been hit and the only thing he could do now was remove the bullet. The urgency was new, too. A ways behind him, Aleksei was thundering through the undergrowth in an attempt to keep up with the faster man, serving as a reminder that this was definitely happening.

Groznyj Grad had gone into lockdown as it always did during the nights. Everything was shut up with the exception of a small entrance off to the side of the main gates and it was there that Ocelot sped, shoving his way past some ignorant sentry who was trying to confirm his ID. Behind him, he heard Aleksei attempt to explain his major's behaviour.

The complex was veiled in thick darkness with the only significant source of light coming from spotlights continually scanning the grounds for unwelcomed guests. Any other person would have slowed down to safely navigate their way through the sea of crates, vehicles and storage facilities situated in irrational places. Racing across the complex, Ocelot's booted foot caught on one of these boxes. He went careening through the air, ending up in a tangled heap of legs and arms. At any other time, Ocelot would've cursed the thing but instead he just picked himself up and kept running. But he did wonder dimly how many people he'd have to shoot after they'd witnessed the mishap.

He was still all-out sprinting when he burst into the jail, the stench instantly invading his nose. Three things immediately demanded his attention: first there was Vadim and one of his cronies standing off to the side, the latter looking somewhat sour. Next, Colonel Volgin who was gracing him with a disgusted glare. And then Snake, who was bound and gagged, a slick coat of sweat covering his face at the effort it took him to just stand there. Ocelot's eyes flicked from one to the other, then came to rest on Volgin as the colonel said, indicating the unnamed soldier, 'He was found interrogating the prisoner. "Interrogating" being his word, of course.' He spared the Ocelot soldier a withering glance, then focussed on Ocelot himself. 'I told you no one was to see him!'

The blonde's little jaunt was beginning to have an impact on him; his heart was drumming at his chest much to fast. Trying to control his breathing, Ocelot began a well-rehearsed apology, 'Colonel, I never--'

'Don't you make excuses! I've listened to enough of your falsities!'

Ocelot clenched his teeth but thought it wise to stay silent. He couldn't jeopardise his mission on account of his personal quest for vengeance and Volgin didn't need any more provoking. Ocelot was rash but he was learning.

Volgin fixed his subordinate with a dominating glare, 'I'm sick of calling for my most elite soldiers and receiving a juggling clown instead. I'm sick of your attitude, carrying on like a spoilt little kid. I'm sick of _you, _Ocelot!'

Said soldier remained silent. Volgin stepped towards him, towering over the smaller man, and brought his face down so he could stare Ocelot in the eyes. The cat averted his gaze. A sadistic grin crawled onto Volgin's face at that. It was all Ocelot could do to will his body not to flinch from this encroachment of his personal space.

The next words were soft, spoken for Ocelot's ears alone, 'And you know what, _Vanya?_ Time and time again, I've stood by and watched your miserable failures. Even though I took you under my wing, you still continue to embarrass me. Both with your failure as a soldier and as a man.'

Glaring at a patch of dirt he'd isolated on Volgin's uniform, Ocelot felt his lips curling back in a rictus of a snarl; he wanted nothing more than to kill Volgin right then. However, the Philosopher's Legacy was too important to risk. Remembering his true objective, Ocelot forced his hand to drop from the grip of the revolver it had crept to.

Straightening, Volgin now spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, 'And now this, this outright disobedience! Major, you're dismissed!'

'…' For once, Ocelot was stunned beyond words.

'Vadim, I'm promoting you as new Major Ocelot. Do whatever you see fit with him,' he indicated the nameless soldier with a toss of his head. Then his gaze fell on the injured Snake, who before had seemed to momentarily escape his notice. 'Dog!' he spat before brushing past the ex-major.

'Colonel!' Ocelot found the words spring from his mouth before he could stop them. Already halfway there he decided the only thing to do now was continue on with what he wanted to say. Turning to face Volgin, he stated, 'You should let the medics tend to him. He's no use to you dead.' The blonde strove to keep his breathing steady against a body that was crying out for more life-giving oxygen.

A pause. Then Volgin spun to backhand the youth, sending jolts of electricity through his body. Ocelot took the punishment wordlessly, knowing there would be a bruise there tomorrow morning, not venturing to turn his face back to the behemoth of a man in front of him. From his place against the wall, Vadim snorted his amusement, 'You think Colonel Volgin cares what happens to the American?' He stopped, considering, then said, 'I'll tell you what I know you're not cut out for Spetsnaz; in fact, you can barely hold your own in a fire fight. And because I don't like seeing boys die needlessly I think some time spent in Med will suit you.' Vadim's lips rearranged into a cruel smile as he added, 'And you can take your pet American with you.'

As if on cue, Snake uttered a pained groan, drawing the attention of the room's other occupants as he staggered then fell. Swift as ever, Ocelot sprung to steady him, one hand against the man's bare chest while the other wrapped around his back. Snake's bloodied head slumped against the slightly taller man's shoulder. He smelt of cigarettes and sweat and cinnamon.

Volgin laughed. 'A pathetic fate for a pathetic boy,' he sounded satisfied as he left the room. Ocelot silently cursed Snake, the only man he'd ever met with the ability to catch him off guard whether it was by giving him pointers on what weapon he was best suited to or collapsing on top of him. Or, to be more accurate, collapsing from the extreme bodily harm inflicted upon him within a short span of time, inducing Ocelot to rush to save him from a nasty fall that could have given him severe concussion or even brain damage. Whatever.

'You heard, _comrade_,' now that Volgin was gone, Vadim's words were dripping with venom. 'Off to the med ward with you. Here,' he chucked Snake's backpack at Ocelot, who fought to keep it off the ground. 'Don't want to go wasting our own supplies on him. Oh, and I'll be expecting those stripes of yours -- I mean, mine -- to be off your uniform before the sun rises tomorrow. Yes?'

Ocelot fixed Vadim with a glare that promised rebellion but knew there was nothing to be done.

'That's an order!'

Struggling to sling Snake and the backpack around his shoulders, this time Ocelot managed a short nod. It startled him when he realised Aleksei was trying to assist him in his task; he hadn't heard his friend slip in. 'We will, sir,' the dark-headed one offered with what Ocelot could tell was barely concealed anger. Perhaps he pushed Aleksei's hands away a bit too vehemently because the look he received was a hurt one. 'It's fine,' Ocelot told him in what he hoped was a softer tone than his actions had implied. With rigid determination, he mustered what dignity he had left and vacated the room walking tall (or as tall as his burden would allow him).

Lugging Snake all the way to Med proved quite a chore even though, to ensure efficiency, the ward was situated nearby. It was quiet outside, the only ones disturbing Ocelot and his protégé being occasional sentries who did a good job of remaining invisible most of the time. Ocelot was glad for the cover of darkness night had brought: he didn't have to see Snake's singular eye turned on him and for the most part the darkness concealed the man hanging off of him, so he wasn't constantly reminded of what he was doing. For all he knew he could've been carrying around a sack of dead tree frogs.

Suddenly panicked at that thought, Ocelot stopped to listen for the sound of Snake's breathing. It came at short, erratic intervals but at least it was there. Using his free arm, the Russian removed the gag from Snake's mouth to allow him to breathe easier. He wiped the perspiration from his eyes. He really shouldn't have felt so relieved. But he did.

He waved the solitary soldier guarding the med ward away, impatient. Kicking open the door (actually, it was more of a dismal flailing of legs -- not at all like those ones you saw the hero of a movie deliver), Ocelot allowed Snake to slide onto the nearest empty bed. The medics had all retired for the day, leaving the place spotless and stinking of disinfectant. Ocelot wrinkled his nose in disgust. With no doctors around, the blonde was forced to administer what he could to his patient himself. On the upside, with the exception of one man who'd toppled into the swamp and been mauled by a gavial for his troubles, there weren't any other inmates around.

Snake was too good for that.

Ocelot dusted off his uniform before unbuttoning the bag and beginning his search for bandages and the like. Snake's backpack was overflowing with useless odds and ends: a folded up cardboard box, a mask with a disturbing resemblance to Raikov (Ocelot chucked it carelessly aside), the fetid remains of something he didn't care to name, a small mousetrap (Ocelot eyed that one suspiciously, wondering why it looked familiar)… The lack of order irritated him to the point where he just inverted the stupid thing, letting its contents spill onto the too-clean floor where he could easily sift through the lot. His slender hands quickly sorted the items into various piles. When they found a questionable magazine, Ocelot hastily shoved it in whatever group happened to be closest, blushing furiously.

The last edible item was a weird-looking mushroom. Ocelot stared at it bemusedly, wondering how Snake managed to live off such matter. His interest piqued, he sniffed at the fungus. A slightly musty odour reached his nose. Deciding that if Snake ate it, it couldn't be too bad (hell, consuming whatever the American did would probably do him the world of good), Ocelot took a bite. Immediately, the most repulsive flavour his tastebuds had ever had the misfortune of stumbling across filled his mouth.

'Son of a--! Ugh!'

Whatever it was, he didn't hesitate in spitting it out. Furiously wiping the mess off his tongue with one hand, Ocelot desperately began searching for something else that would wash away the taste with the other. Finding no water amongst the miscellaneous objects, he all but ran to the nearest sink, turned the tap and twisted his head to drink. Even after rinsing his mouth out multiple times a horribly bitter aftertaste remained. As if making him baby-sit Snake wasn't insulting enough, he just had to go and make it worse himself. Moron.

The Russian turned to regard Snake, who was still lying on the bed in an innocent manner, and silently blamed him for the entire episode. At least now that he'd injected some organisation into the man's belongings he could clearly see what he had to work with. Styptic, ointment, a couple of suture kits, disinfectant (Ocelot breathed through his mouth), some random pills… he had enough to start his own clinic.

Running his eyes over Snake, he quickly assessed the extent of his injuries. Numerous cuts, some of them deeper then others, that were still bleeding profusely explained the FOX commando's dizzy spell. Other wounds, ones that had only begun scabbing, had broken open either due to his rough treatment from Volgin or Vadim, or maybe Ocelot himself. Areas of Snake's body were covered in burn marks and tender-looking bruises, a particularly large one located on his chest just below where his heart was. That must've been thanks to an especially powerful punch from Volgin. Then there was the pair of gunshot wounds Ocelot had given him earlier, one to the leg, the other taking out his eye. Ocelot couldn't help but feel a twang of guilt when he noticed Snake hadn't received any treatment for that, either.

And finally, two of the digits on Snake's right hand were bent at awkward angles. Ocelot gained a small degree of relief when it occurred to him that the other wouldn't be firing a gun anytime soon. He doubted that would hinder the guy, though.

Ocelot watched Snake's chest rise and fall a few seconds longer. He could just let him die. But then there were those things he'd been considering before, the matters regarding his honour and pride. And then…

_"That's an order!"_

The navy bandanna Snake had tied around the wounded leg was darkened with bloodstains. Ocelot carefully removed it.

'What're you up to…?' Snake groaned, obviously wanting as little to do with Ocelot as possible.

'Take off your pants,' Ocelot commanded.

'Ta--What?'

Ocelot allowed an exasperated sigh. He hated repeating himself at the best of times. 'I said, take off your pants.'

'You first,' Snake growled.

Heat rising in his cheeks -- whether from indignation or not he didn't want to consider -- Ocelot made a sound of frustration and directed his piercing gaze at the American, 'You really want me to leave that bullet in there? Because I will, if you push me.' He hoped Snake believed him.

He obviously did because he managed to right himself and begin undressing. Ocelot busied himself trying to thread the needle to stitch up some of the lacerations, wondering how he could possibly carry out his mission now that he wasn't even cleared to enter a toilet cubicle unaccompanied.

'…Wouldn't have picked you as the nurturing type,' Snake commented.

Ocelot hissed as he jabbed himself with the needle, 'Shut up.'

Snake obliged for a time but after several more unsuccessful attempts he spoke again, 'You're trying too hard. Here,' he held out his hand for the items.

Ocelot considered it, then decided it was better than kneeling there all night while Snake watched him make an ass of himself. Besides, at this point his pride appeared to be sitting at the bottom of a garbage bin along with his dignity. He held the needle and thread above Snake's open palm for a moment of glorious defiance, then dropped them. Snake blessed him with a small nod of acknowledgement. Ocelot couldn't help but smirk when he saw the other had tactfully left his undergarments on. Modesty from a trained killer?

Face taut with concentration at the task at hand, the brunette still managed to get in a couple of blows, 'You're too impatient for this stuff. Definitely not cut out for medicine. Makes you angry just hearing me say that, doesn't it?'

Ocelot blinked, startled by the man's perception.

'And your gloves inhibit you. They eliminate contact with your skin, making it difficult for you to feel what you have to do. There!' He passed it back to Ocelot, who was rather disgruntled at the critique. Snake's observations seemed to always centre on insulting Ocelot's talents, something the youth had dealt with for much of his life with a passiveness that came from being powerless to stop it. Snake was different though: true, his criticisms hurt no less, but Ocelot found himself considering them, thinking about what he could do to correct whatever it was the man pointed out. Hence his newest acquisition: a trio of SAAs that were never far away from him.

Yes, there was definitely something about this FOX operative that unsettled Ocelot. For one, he never seemed to lose his temper, a feat which Ocelot could never seem to fully accomplish. While he wasn't exactly kind, his presence wasn't unbearable; on the contrary, Ocelot found himself enjoying the older man's insight, even if it did come at the expense of his own ego. Strangest of all was that Snake had the uncanny ability to read into his thoughts. Ocelot may have been viciously defensive and even hot-headed to a degree but he certainly knew how to mask his feelings when he needed to -- wouldn't be much of a spy if he couldn't -- but Snake seemed to see right through him. The Russian disliked what he was feeling, a sort of anxiousness coming from the pit of his stomach, squirming its way to his chest where it played tricks on his heart. It was easier just hating him, but… he couldn't. Not when he embodied the state Ocelot's physical, perhaps even mental, health had been like on a number of occasions. Not when he wanted to thank him properly for what he had given him. Not when he looked so _real_.

It was harder when you knew the enemy.

"_What if he can read my mind…?"_ he wondered before chastising himself with the sarcasm of, _"Well, why don't you ask him? Though he's probably too busy trying to stop bleeding everywhere." _

'You gonna stitch me up now, or what?' Snake questioned when Ocelot remained blank for a bit too long.

"…_Weird."_

'You're lucky I'm even doing this,' he warned, 'but you're not as lucky as me.' He then found himself taunting Snake, 'Besides, if you can thread the thing, why not do it yourself?'

'For starters, I can't reach the back of my leg,' Snake supplied dryly, making Ocelot curse his own idiocy. 'I'm not some kind of contortionist like that Spider you sent me. Freak…' The Spetsnaz soldier was pretty sure Snake hadn't meant that last part to be audible: he spoke them into the pillow he'd turned to bury his face in. But Ocelot had no love for the Cobras and despite himself he felt the corner of his lips quirk at the comment. He brutally scrubbed it from his face.

'You'd show your back to me?' he asked instead.

'You're not allowed to kill me; I heard that much. Besides, you're too honourable for that kind of play,' the praise seemed to come easily, with no hesitation. Just like that other time when Snake told him he was FOX material.

For a prisoner of war, the American was quite the conversationalist.

So was his stomach. It grumbled loudly just as Ocelot was about to disinfect the bullet wound. Raising an eyebrow, he dug around in his own pockets until he came up with a ration -- he made a point to keep one on him at all times; one never knew when the next battle would begin. 'Here,' with a flick of his wrist, he deposited the package beside Snake's head, who turned to stare at it suspiciously.

An exasperated sigh, 'Just eat the damn thing.'

Surprisingly, Snake obeyed, shuffling into a sitting position before opening the packet as if afraid it was rigged with C3. Ocelot watched him carefully, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. As Snake placed a piece in his mouth, his face froze entirely. It looked like an effort to chew and swallow the stuff. 'This is so horrible!' he exclaimed to no one in particular.

'Not as bad as whatever it is that's making that rotten stink in your backpack.'

'…You ate my food?'

Ocelot forced the blush from his face, 'Not exactly…'

Snake glanced at the neat little groups his belongings had organised themselves into. '…The Siberian Ink Cap,' he said knowingly, 'is possibly _the_ worst thing I've tasted.' Chewing thoughtfully, he added, 'But these rations come a close second.'

Again, Ocelot was stunned into "blink-like-a-dumb-blonde" mode. The man _knew_ what he'd eaten. It was kinda admirable, someone so in-tune to their environment. But it was downright creepy on so many levels.

Gesturing wildly at the remains of the mushroom, Ocelot grumbled, 'The first thing you can do after I've shot your other leg is remove this… _food_.' He supposed he would've sounded more dangerous if he'd been able to stop the nauseous feeling that rose in his stomach just by thinking about eating the damn thing.

'Curiosity killed the cat,' Snake quipped.

At a loss for a retort, Ocelot consoled himself in the fact that at least Snake didn't ask _why_ he'd decided to chow down on his so-called food. Somehow, "I wanted to eat what you eat" sounded a little too stalker-ish. And not to mention completely untrue, Ocelot berated himself. One week and with any luck Vadim would let him rejoin the unit -- he hated admitting that he needed the other's permission to do so -- and Snake would be fit enough to kill.

'Well Major, looks like we're stuck with each other for the week,' Snake mused.

'…Don't know how I'm going to survive…' Ocelot murmered, keeping a wary eye on the other. Even if Snake heard, Ocelot doubted he'd understand exactly what he meant. Eyebrows coming together in a V as he recalled his demotion, he added, 'And don't call me Major.' He glanced at the set of impressive stripes below his breast pocket. His whole uniform was smeared with Snake's blood; Ocelot frowned then absently began removing his coat, placing it neatly on the end of the bed.

'Geez, kid, make up your mind. First you shoot out my leg because I _don't_ call you Major and now--'

'What's your name, then?' Ocelot interjected, unwilling to reveal his own.

Snake's lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile, 'John.'

Ocelot stared at him for a moment.

John. "Gracious gift of God."

The Western equivalent of Ivan.

It didn't matter. The American wasn't likely to provide his real name, anyway. Snake gave him a quizzical look when he didn't respond. A few more seconds passed, then Ocelot snapped back to attention and to his usual arrogant self. 'John,' he stated, a note of mockery in his voice. Tapping his head for emphasis, he stated truthfully, 'Plain name, but I won't forget it.'

Ever.


	4. IV: Mending

**Title: **Cause to Fight

**Author: **Aqua Phoenix1

**Disclaimer:**_Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater_ and all its characters and story do not belong to me. That honour goes to Hideo Kojima and Konami. I do own Vadim and Aleksei though.

**Rating: **Again, this one's K+ for shounen-ai and darkish themes.

**Pairing: **Snake/Ocelot (mostly)

**A/N: **DDG: Yes, I am hurting Ocelot's prowess as a warrior but it's for his own good. I think that from the little scene in the chopper in MGS3 we see that Ocelot is very different when in Volgin's presence than in the way he interacts with Snake. Of course, one must defer to one's commanding officer and because this fic is very Ocelot-oriented I'll try to show this "other" side more often. Hopefully his interaction with his subordinates will show he's still an arrogant git, heh. But for the most part, Snake makes him feel inferior so it's only natural that he'll appear somewhat weak in their conversations. Ocelot has another chapter of humiliation now, a little more torture (though I'm not sure "torture" is the word I'd use.)

In other news, this uploading system doesn't like my decorative touches used to signify flashbacks. It's driven me insane for long enough, so you'll have to make do without I'm afraid.

* * *

**-----------------------------------------------------**  
**Chapter IV**  
**Mending**

"_Honour is just something _

_bred from a child's naievety."_

**-----------------------------------------------------**

**  
**

_He's a soldier, and he's standing in front of a not-clean-enough mirror gazing at himself. The strained face that stares back doesn't seem like his own. Black smudges beneath his eyes are a tell tale sign of sleeplessness; drawn cheeks coupled with prominent cheekbones say this boy is underfed. Close cropped hair is making a gallant attempt at looking dishellved. He runs a shaky hand through it, enjoying the silky texture before shifting so as the cracked part of the mirror is covering his reflection. The dizzying pattern of cracks distorts the reflection, and for some reason he grins at that: the broken image of a broken boy. He finds himself picking up one of multiple shards from where it has fallen to the ground, considering its pointed beauty…_

Laying there on the military's idea of a comfortable sleeping place, Jack wondered what the hell he was doing. Or rather, letting Ocelot do to him. He certainly didn't want to hurt the kid, not that his wounds would permit it at the moment anyway, but then he hadn't asked to be healed either. As he tried to ignore the piercing pain each time another stitch was added to close the tiny tunnel through his leg, Jack reasoned that they were both just doing what they had to: Ocelot had his orders and Jack was feeble as a kitten.

Thinking of "Ocelot", he quickly ammeded the thought. The past few days had taught him kittens (for a boy like the major was certainly no cat) could be surprisingly deceptive when they wanted to. Though the blonde had a serious case of Swollen Head Syndrome when it came to a select few topics such as his prowess as an exceptional marksman -- Jack still couldn't quite decipher what was so horrible about the words "pretty good", but evidently something was -- the boy did a good job at hiding his true feelings. Jack knew this from observing his reactions: something as minsicule as a narrowing of eyes here, or the tightening of the jawline there. If Ocelot had something to hide, Jack held no doubt that he would succeed in concealing it.

That was, except if the kid was trying to keep it from him. Years of experience with military ops had taught Snake to be watchful, had made him an expert on people's behaviour and how to counteract it. Ocelot was skilled at keeping a lid on his feelings when he wanted to apart from one critical thing: his eyes. They reflected everything, served as portals to his innermost thoughts. Eyes, they said, were windows to the soul, and so far Ocelot wasn't disproving this sentiment. Of course, Snake knew only a keen observer like himself would be able to detect those subtle hints.

Seeing those eyes close up for the first time made Jack certain that the boy wasn't all he appeared to be. He'd seen the way he acted around Volgin, outwardly calm to a casual passerby but really tense, thin hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention like eager recruits. Jack could tell the feelings weren't just disapproval of the colonel's methods, a disapproval stemming from the naivety of youth. No, it lay deeper than that. Ocelot didn't disapprove of Volgin; he despised him.

To his credit, the blue eyed boy wasn't as easy to pin down as any normal soldier. This odd occurrence of being unable to place someone's allegiances coupled with Ocelot's hatred of the GRU officer led Snake to the only conclusion he could draw: Ocelot was double-crossing Volgin. This wasn't so bad in itself. Maybe Snake could use him somehow as he'd been using EVA… Jack frowned at the thought. Yes, him utilising EVA's abilities was to the benefit of the mission but Jack wasn't that kind of person. That was Snake.

What _was_ bad was that Ocelot kept changing tact so abruptly Jack wasn't certain whether he should view him as ally or hostile. Maybe he was a blend of both.

Maybe he was neither. But then he wouldn't be sewing up Jack's leg now, would he?

That's when Jack sensed the fingers ghosting over his own flesh. The other must've paused in his ministrations to discard his customary gloves. At that instant his fingertips were neither touching Jack nor not, caught between that awkward moment when one considers crossing the boundaries into physical contact. Jack knew. He was getting that tingling sensation when one anticipates a touch but is uncertain as to when it will happen, the one that makes goosebumps appear on normally smooth skin, the one that sends hearts racing. Then he felt the hands press lightly against his wound, making it whole again, whilst the other began stitching it closed and he couldn't help but smile to himself. At least the kid wasn't too proud to ignore good advice when it was offered. Those hands, they were untainted by combat unlike Jack's own, which were rough and callussed after years of holding a gun.

Jack was glad he was facing the wall.

'Turn around,' Ocelot commanded once he was done, a slight waver in his usually composed voice.

Taking care so as not to pull at the new sutures, Jack rolled over onto his back. He suddenly felt very bare, not to mention cold. Despite all the mugginess of the Russian jungle during daylight it was damn near freezing at night. And for the first time he realised that this situation gave a whole new meaning to the name Naked Snake. Come to think of it, just _what_ did "Naked Snake" _not_ imply?

Coughing, Jack sputtered, 'I can do the rest.'

Ocelot gave him a pointed look that said, _"Stop being so self-righteous and let me help."_ What he said, voice wrought with irony, was, 'Or you'll die trying?'

'Fine, but make it quick,' the other growled, unwilling to let the boy's hands linger on him any longer then necessary, partially because it felt nice to be touched by someone who wasn't trying to kill him (at least, at the moment). Wordlessly, he watched as Ocelot baptised a swab with more disinfectant -- the Russian's nose, he noted, wrinkled each time -- and braced himself for the sting he knew was coming. As the blonde methodically replaced the cap on the bottle, Jack caught a glimpse of thin white lines crisscrossing the other's wrists in a twisted pattern.

Jack must've been holding his breath because Ocelot looked up from his work. Too slow in averting his gaze, Jack instead raised his eye to meet the youth's twin blue ones. They were grey now, as if expecting ascolding,not at all challenging like Jack had expected.

Jack had him effectively trapped. Pull away and he'd appear weak and easily cowed; remain open and he'd risk Jack's scruntiny. Not much of a choice, really.

A pause.

'How old are you?' Jack asked finally.

'…Twenty,' the reply was cautious but honest.

So, older then Jack had expected, but still a kid. He didn't know what had made Ocelot do it, wasn't sure if he wanted to know, was damn sure that Ocelot didn't want him to know anyway. But now he felt with utmost certainty that he had discovered why the blonde had an eternal aura of distrust around him, or at least the manifestation of the reason behind it. Jack had always thought cutting was for the emotionally unstable, not too-proud Spetsnaz commanders. He had unwittingly unravelled another layer of the kid; Jack also conceded that perhaps Ocelot wasn't as self-assured as he appeared. He said none of this. He merely nodded for the inexperienced soldier to continue.

Ocelot scowled but when he dabbed at another deep cut on Jack's arm it was still gentle.

Only then did it register that he was relieved none of Ocelot's scars were fresh.

Rather than analyse that thought, Jack indicated Groznyj Grad with his free hand. 'Don't know why you're wasting your youth here,' he said instead, unwilling to let the silence grow. Silence was his idea of a nightmare: it signified a mission, embodied the feeling of being utterly isolated with no one to call for backup, for help.

Jack wasn't much of a talker. Ten years with The Boss, who said less than little about herself, had seen him adopt some of her characteristic reticence even though he did most of the talking in their relationship. Her voice had soothed him in the midst of battle, gently encouraged him, always guided him towards the right course of action. Because of this, silences between them had been comfortable ones filled with mutual understanding -- Jack was willing to accept her inclination to remain stoic. When she had disappeared four years ago, he had begun resenting moments of quiet where any noise could be an approaching enemy… moments that reminded him of her.

So he kept speaking and the words came naturally. Ocelot's presence somehow invited Jack to talk. The whole situation was oddly familiar.

Adding more thread to the needle -- it was easier for him this time and Jack laughed inwardly at a youth's ability to learn new things so quickly -- Ocelot began sewing the slash on Jack's arm closed. 'We Russians pride ourselves on our devotion to the Motherland,' Ocelot told him sharply, evidently as eager to delve away from the previous topic of conversation as Jack was.

'Is that so?'

'You know it!'

'Funny, considering all the in-fighting going on around here. Even your own unit doesn't support you.'

Ocelot tossed a hand carelessly but his mouth became a thin line, his knife of a silver tongue safely locked behind it in case it lashed out. Carefully controlled word came next, 'Vadim has always fantasised about being in command again. It's unfortunate that some of the others agree with him.' Too young, too reckless, too easily provoked… What did they know of the real him? 'But they'll be begging for me by the week's end. I'd be more worried about your own country if I were you.'

Jack shrugged, 'At least we don't fire nukes at each other. But I suppose Volgin's crazy enough for that.'

'…How did you know it was Volgin?' Ocelot said, eyes narrowing.

'I didn't. But I do now,' he couldn't help but bait the kid. It didn't irk him as much as it should have to learn that he'd been doing that a lot lately.

Ocelot let out a "hmph" of frustration. 'Just what did they teach you in FOX anyway? How to weasel information out of unsuspecting people?' He'd moved on to Jack's other arm now. Thankfully, this one -- his gun arm -- wasn't as badly injured as the other… that was, apart from the broken fingers.

'Isn't that what _you_ do best?' Jack countered.

'I don't--' _"…want you to know I…"_ '--specialise in anything of the sort. Special Ops is our equivalent of your CIA. Don't they tell you anything?'

Maybe he didn't realise how contradictory those statements were. Jack chose to ignore it; Snake filed it away for future reference.

'Nothing at all… That's what I tried to tell you but you shot me instead.'

'…'

'Besides, acquiring information from others isn't something someone can tell you how to do. A wise woman once told me that the only thing you can be taught is technique. All the other things: the spirit, the body, the mindset of a soldier, are something you have to learn on your own. In the end you can either be a soldier or just another man with a gun.' Jack flinched as the needle went in again.

Ocelot looked up at him, 'Which are you?' Jack was certain he hadn't meant to say that: the blonde hastily returned to his work.

Jack didn't know himself. He knew what Operation Snake Eater entailed, that he had orders to kill The Boss, a woman who had not just been a mentor but a mother, because she had changed her loyalties. A soldier wasn't meant to have fluctuating loyalties.

What Jack didn't understand was that The Boss had let him live, and more than once. He didn't doubt she'd be able to disarm him and disassemble whatever weapon he was carrying with both her hands tied; she'd proven her superior skill many times in the past, especially when he'd been starting out and had that cocky streak that was ingrained in all young guns. It was, Snake knew, necessary to quash that notion of invincibility before it led to a fatal slip up.

No one had taught Ocelot that. Jack had decided to take on the project himself. It had become something of a game for both of them, the younger attempting to kill the older and in a clean fight no less. Sure, the kid was a show off but Jack had to admire his sense of honour and the courage he displayed. A courage bordering on idiotic, the way he tried to take on Jack. The American smirked to himself. Ah, the ignorance of youth.

Not like him and The Boss. They both knew what had to be done. Jack supposed there was no point in trying to puzzle out his mentor's motives. The real question, the one Ocelot had indirectly posed, was would he be able to kill her?

'…I'm not sure yet. A soldier has to carry out his duties regardless of who they came from or whether he agrees or not. He can't view people as comrades or enemies; he's only allowed to look towards the goal, and to accomplish it, no matter what the consequences. Personal feelings are a soldier's downfall.'

'…How can you do that?' For the moment, he seemed to have forgotten they were supposed to be mortal enemies. He at least made a show of nonchalance though: Ocelot kept his attention carefully trained on what he was doing.

'By staying loyal to your country, and carrying your leader's honour out into the field.'

'That's not honour!'

Jack glanced at him, surprised, wordlessly beckoning he prove him wrong.

'Honour and loyalty are two completely different things. Honour comes from within, from the heart. It's about holding true to your _own_ personal values, keeping alive what means the most to you rather than doing what you're told out of blind loyalty. Are you telling me I can't be a soldier and keep my honour?' His voice, which had been steadily climbing, ended suddenly.

'Your kind of honour is just something bred from a child's naievety.'

A clenching of teeth, 'So you'd fight, even if you didn't believe in the cause?'

A small smile, 'It's a soldier's life. It's what I was trained for.'

'Guess I was wrong about you.' Ocelot looked disappointed.

Jack still remembered the outraged look on the Russian's face when he sent a beehive crashing down on the kid, the angry inhabitants attacking Ocelot in an attempt to defend their home, forcing him to let down his guard to fend them off. Fight fair, he'd said in that demanding voice of his, a wounded look on his face. He'd had an open shot, but Jack had eased his finger off the trigger. He didn't try any sneaky tricks after that.

Well, except shooting the kid's cap off for experimental purposes. Ocelot was, Jack decided, quite the perfectionist. He glanced at the carefully constructed groupings his equipment had been sorted into previously and shook his head.

'What now?' Ocelot asked, voice laced with impatience. Realising he'd been smiling again, the FOX agent quickly wiped the expression off his face.

'Just thinking.'

'That's no answer.'

'It's the truth. What more could you want?'

It looked like an effort for Ocelot to keep his voice neutral. 'You to be less slipery, for starters. What were you thinking about?' the request was awkward, as if it was difficult to formulate the right -- polite -- words. A previously hazy picture was now coming into focus; it was clear the blonde usually got what he wanted. Amusing in a way, that even though the American was practically naked, spread out on a hospital bed as if awaiting the not-too-gentle removal of numerous vital organs, he still had the upper hand in their conversations.

'You, if you must know.' Why wouldn't his mouth stop moving?

Ocelot hesitated slightly before saying, 'Well, don't!' as he pointed an accusing finger at the other. His eyes widened when he saw he wasn't wearing any gloves and he fluidly pulled them back on.

Jack sighed at the ceiling, 'Kinda hard when you're sitting right in front of me.'

'Not like I have a choice,' Ocelot grumbled, then it seemed to dawn on him that he was acting childish and his head flicked up again, eyes daring Jack to comment -- Jack _felt_ more than saw the well-practiced glower and he turned his head to clash with two orbs the most startling shade of blue, slightly skewered from the tangerine of a fast-approaching dawn. The patient stared back evenly at his doctor. Letting the kid believe he could push him around could be suicidal.

Jack blinked, but it was Ocelot who looked away first, both unused to people opposing them.

'In any case, I'm done here,' Ocelot tied off the last stitch, giving it one final tug with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Jack bit back a cry. 'It won't hold through another session with Volgin but if you're lucky he'll forget about you until the week's up. Can't make any promises though.'

Relieved, Jack tried to sit up -- he'd endured the submissive position he'd been forced into for long enough -- and succeeded in knocking his pants and Ocelot's coat off the end of the bed. Ocelot didn't hesitate before righting them, smoothing out the material as he did so.

'What about this?' the brunette asked, pointing to his ruined eye. It still felt strange having a restricted field of vision. Jack definitely didn't like the impairment and could only be grateful he still had one left.

No warning issued, Ocelot brushed back Jack's chocolate hair, which had fallen loose without the bandanna and observed his ruined eye. Just as quickly, the hand dropped. 'I… can't fix that,' he admitted. 'And your fingers, you'll have to have them strapped.' Absently running a hand over the freshly closed wounds on his torso (the blonde had done a good job), Jack frowned at the tone.

Ocelot must have thought the grimace was meant for him. 'I'm a warrior, not a medic,' he said mildly by means of explanation. 'And don't think for a moment that's gonna change.' Abruptly, he pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his uniform where it had made contact with the floor.

'…Wouldn't dream of it.'

The quiet noise of Ocelot's teeth grinding together reached Jack's ears. Slivers of sunlight filtering in through the window turned his Aryan features a strange rose-tinge, making it as if Jack was looking at him through a piece of cellophane. Jack glanced a soldier pass by, followed by the sounds of muffled conversation. Changing the guard. He made a mental note of it as he tested his leg to make sure the sutures held. Bullets from Single Action Armys had a nasty habit of lodging in your leg; Jack supposed he should be grateful his had torn right through.

'Tomorrow morning…' Ocelot paused, his eyes sliding to the window. 'This morning, I'll send for a medic.' He made to pick up his jacket, then seemed to recall that he wasn't permitted to wear it any longer and left it sitting where it was.

Jack glanced at his belongings, 'And my stuff?' He couldn't help but remind the clueless kid.

In answer, Ocelot gave him his typical two-handed "go ahead" gesture and turning on his heel, left the room in a wonderful display of brazen youth swagger.

Finally left to his own devices, Jack let himself fall back against the mattress that felt as if it had gone through a trash compactor and squeezed his eye closed. The blissful ignorance of sleep was the most inviting course of action right now.

…Just how _was_ he going to last the week?


End file.
